My Best Friend Looks Like a First Grader
by Bellerophone
Summary: A memoir by Hattori Heiji.  Contains some foul language!
1. Preramble

My Best Friend Looks Like a First Grader

A Memoir by Hattori Heiji

_Konichiwa!_ My name is Hattori Heiji, the Detective of the West. I live in Osaka, Japan, where I solve cases for the Police Department while attendin' high school. I'm pretty famous in my own right, lemme tell ya, but there's another detective you all've probably heard more about: my opposite, Kudou Shinichi, Detective of the East. If you're not Agasa-hakase, Miyano Shiho-slash-Sherry-slash-Haibara Ai (don't ask), Kudou Yusaku or Kudou Yukiko, or Mouri Ran (but she's a special case), I'd bet that you haven't heard about Kudou Shinichi in a while, ne? Not been in the news recently, has he?

Heh, heh. Funny story about that, actually.

Okay, take this as it comes, 'cause it's not gonna seem likely at first, but I swear on my omamori that it's all true. A few months back, Kudou stumbled on an illegal transaction between a local official and a man dressed in black. The man in black's partner caught Kudou—who ain't much of a fighter, not like me or Kazuha or Ran-neechan—and force-fed him some bizarre poison which, instead of killing him—of all things— de-aged him.

That's right, seventeen-year-old Kudou Shinichi now looks like a first grader.

To hide from the men in black, who'd come finish the job if they knew Kudou's still alive, he now calls himself "Edogawa Conan" and lives with his girlfriend Mouri Ran, who has no idea where Shinichi really is, while subtly helpin' Ran's dad "Sleeping Kogoro" solve murder cases. Or rather, Kudou's own version of "helpin'," which involves knocking Mouri Kogoro out with his stun-gun wrist watch and then explaining his deductions using his voice-changer bowtie to sound like Mouri.

If I'm lyin' to ya I swear I'll eat my hat. And I _really_ like my hat.

I didn't find out about any of this—didn't even meet Kudou/Edogawa—until about a month after Kudou got shrunk, 'cause while I was visiting Tokyo he found a way to get briefly big again—though it wasn't as if I needed his help on the case or anything.

After all, I'm the Detective of the West! I'm just as good as him!

Alright, so I had been accusing the wrong person of murdering that diplomat guy. I was having an off-day. God, it really ticked me off that Kudou Shinichi showed up just in time to show _me_ up, when I'd gone to Tokyo just to see which of us was better.

But anyway, movin' on, the next time I ran into Kudou, just a few weeks later, he was still Conan, but now that I'd met the 'real' Shinichi the kid's behavior was strikin' me as funnily familiar. It was when he tried to knock _me_ out (aw, hell no) and use his voice-changer bowtie to 'solve' the case that I figured out who Conan must be. Of course he protested, and of course I was polite about it ("Oi, Ran-neechan, guess what? I've got something to tell you about Conan—"), but eventually he confessed everythin' to me.

So the next time we met we solved the seeming murder-suicide case that was really a suicide and murder intertwined. It's a long story. But a great one! Kudou and I made a pretty great detective team. Ask me about it some other time, though; I got a point to get to.

So we finally cornered the murderer in her would-be father-in-law's bedroom, where she tried to kill herself as well, but Kudou had found the gasoline she'd prepared to do the job. When she realized that the canister was filled instead with water, she broke down. I hated watchin' her sob on the floor, clutchin' her silver lighter like that, sobbing about her lost lover—So did Kudou, I could tell. He began to back away from the woman, towards where the unconscious Mouri-han was sitting.

"Y'know, Kudou," I said quietly. "Maybe we shoulda let her die after all…"

What Kudou said to me then, I'll never forget.

"Don't be dumb," he snapped, throwing his head back ridiculously far to look up at me. "A detective who corners a criminal with logic, but then lets them commit suicide is no different from a murderer."

Harsh words, from a three-foot-nothin' first grader. I laughed it off at the time ("Only the 'perfect' you could say such a thing!") and the woman was carted off to jail. I wasn't exactly hugely friendly with Kudou yet, y'know. That was only my third case with him, an' the first where we had actually worked together. I mostly was just curious as hell about this guy. I mean, he was smack in the middle of the biggest case I'd ever seen, and on top of it all he was almost as smart as me. _And _he was _shrunk_. I mean, what the hell, right? That sorta crap should only happen in some sorta weird sci-fi movie, or a lame anime, not real life.

After that case, my flight back to Osaka had gotten in late, and I was tired. Kazuha was supposed to meet me at the airport, but she 'forgot.' By 'forgot,' I mean she was gettin' back at me for laughin' at her the day before, when she came into the locker rooms at my Kendo dojo to ask what I thought of her new hairdo. But really, Kazuha shouldn't wear her hair any other way but in a ponytail. She told me to be honest, and I said she looked like a drowned cat with her hair down an' flowing all around her shoulders. As her friend, I couldn't let her go walkin' around like that. Especially because a few of the guys on the team seemed to think she looked _good_.

Whatever. Anyway, dreams. I get funny dreams sometimes. Like one night when I was mebbe nine, I dreamed about takoyaki, and the next day my mom made takoyaki for dinner.

I'm getting on with my story now before y'all think I'm a nut or pullin' your leg or something (which I'm not!).

So I got home and fell right asleep in my clothes, and I kept hearing in my head Kudo's little-kid voice, saying over and over again, "A detective who corners a criminal with logic, but then lets them commit suicide is no different from a murderer."

That sort of situation had never happened to me before. But what if it did? What if Kudou hadn't been there? Would I have let that lady die?

I want to say of course not. Now, the answer'd be "of course not."

But still, at that time I couldn't get Kudou's voice out of my head. And then (in the dream) there he was, big again, normal Kudou Shinichi. We were chasin' a criminal together, a criminal whose face I couldn't see, but I had that nagging feeling like I knew the guy. The criminal was then joined by another; when this second guy came into the dream, I unconsciously clutched at my chest to where my omamori_—_the good luck charm Kazuha mademe_—_ always hangs—and realized with a sickenin' little jolt that for some reason it was missin'.

Kudou and I, we were just about to catch up to them both when the two criminals suddenly split up. Kudou followed the newcomer, and I kept on the guy I recognized.

Then, bang—as I was just about to capture him, the criminal whirls on me in a flash of fire, brandishing a knife. Or a gun. Or a really pointy chopstick—hell, I couldn't tell, but suddenly I was yelling and everythin' around me was burnin'.

More yelling—I looked up—and there was Shinichi, standing beyond the flames, his criminal crouched at his feet. But he didn't have that Kudou-smirk on. His face was shocked, twisted in pain, and his hands were clutchin' his chest—and then I saw it.

Knife hilt sticking from Kudou's chest. His hands shakin' like hell. His face pale, disbelieving. Blood drenching his white shirt. _Knife_ in Kudou's _chest._

That's around the time I woke up, fell out of bed, and cursed so loudly that Kazuha, who'd snuck in to put itchin' powder in my baseball hat (that girl seriously holds a grudge), screeched and backed up against the door.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" we both screamed. Well, I yelled it. Only girls scream. Do _not_ let Kazuha tell the story otherwise.

But I was so mad that night that I shouted my head off at her (together we probably woke the whole island up), then got so tired that I fell fast asleep right on the floor and didn't dream.

Well, a few weeks passed. I solved a few cases. I got revenge on Kazuha (dye in her shampoo—so even with her hair down I don't have to worry), was revenged upon by Kazuha (replaced my favorite katana with a cheap fake), went to the hospital because the fake katana shattered in Kendo practice just as I was parryin' a head blow from Okita (concussions are a bitch), was reassured that, as the hospital's "best customer" the doctors were tryin' very hard to get me my own personal room (Kazuha found this extremely amusin'), went out to the movies with Kazuha (and if you think I paid, you're dumber than Mouri-han). All in all, not all that exciting of a three weeks.

But this dream, it didn't stop comin'. All the rest of it; the chasin' two criminals and the fire—that faded away. The part that kept wakin' me in the middle of the night was the bang of my criminal pulling out a weapon—and then Kudou being the one who died.

I tell ya, I'm a pretty tough guy, but every time I saw Kudou's face like that, in this horrible expression like 'this can't be happening,' I woke up shaking. I mean, sure I wasn't overly fond of the guy then, but there was somethin' about him, you know? He was the first guy I ever met who was really on my level. An' I sort of felt that he needed me, in a way. Not that he'd ever admit it, stubborn bastard. But it's gotta be rough, livin' like that. I guess the thought of him dyin' like that just really galled me.

Anyway, I tried to tell myself that it was just a dream, but Kazuha's a bad influence on me. She's more superstitious than a witch-doctor. I didn't tell her about the dreams 'cause she'd freak out and make me do something to prevent Kudou's murder. Tch.

Not that her foolishness has rubbed off on me or anything. It's just that one day, about two weeks after this dream started comin', I was walkin' in town with Kazuha and saw that some high-schooler from Tokyo (who looked _unbelievably _like Kudou, by the way) had spilled ketchup on his white shirt—right where his heart'd be—and I decided enough was enough. I could not keep leaping at every Shinichi look-alike with ketchup stains on his shirt, shoutin' "_Don't die, Kudou_!"

Bad enough that the poor guy jumped about a meter backwards, landed in a window display full of fish, and screamed like a girl. Even worse that his girlfriend started screaming at me and trying to bludgeon me with a mop. Not to mention that Kazuha, once again, found this whole mess so unbearably funny that she couldn't do nuthin' but watch and laugh.

No damage to my pride if I called Kudou to Osaka, just to hang out for a bit, is there? Or at least, a negligible amount of damage, considering the debacle with the Tokyo couple.

So I walked away from that fish-littered street corner with a mission—Or at least, I tried damn hard to walk away. Scratch that, I tried damn hard to _run_ away, seein' as that girl was still beatin' every exposed inch of my skin with her mop, the boy who looked like Kudou was cursin' a blue streak at me and the vendor and at fish in general, and the vendor was threatenin' to call my parents _and_ the police. I thought that was funny until I remembered that having your parents and the police be the same person isn't really funny at all. And Kazuha's still laughin' so hard I finally had to toss her over my shoulder and carry her to my motorbike. That only made her complain about how ungentlemanly I am all the way home—I finally got her to shut up by sayin' somethin' about how she can't get a boyfriend 'cause she's too busy taggin' along after me all day.

She didn't open her mouth again the whole ride home, I'm proud to say. Though it didn't much help my mood that evening. In fact, becausa her, I sorta felt even more embarrassed than I had because of that stupid ketchup-dripping Tokyo kid. Don'cha hate that naggin' feeling, like you're missin' something really important? Like, if you just sat down and thought about it really long and hard and clear-headedly, it'd be totally obvious?

Well, unfortunately, outside of murder cases, my attention span's about as good as the next teenage boy's. Back to the story!

Actually, how 'bout a snack break, and then back to the story. 'Till later!

…

…


	2. The Missing Detective Writer Case

So where was I? Oh—right—the Tokyo couple debacle. What I'm tryin' to say is that when I got home that day I had resolved to call Kudou—just as soon as I finished the latest chapter of "Half of the Top," a new mystery story by my favorite modern detective fiction writer Shinmyou Nintaro.

See, years ago Shinmyou-sensei used to write this series about this detective named Samonji, who was basically just the coolest guy around. He did kendo an' everything. The stories were published chapter by chapter in a magazine and I used to read 'em when I was little. But ten years ago Shinmyou-sensei ended the series by having Samonji die in a fire in a final confrontation with his nemesis. So he's written other mystery stories since, but nothing as great as Samonji.

Yes, this does have ta do with the story!

Anyway, so two months before this time (that is, the day I nearly avoided getting' my face beaten in by a girl half my height with a mop) suddenly Shinmyou-sensei started writing Samonji again! Samonji had miraculously survived the fire and was back on a new case, called "Half of the Top." I'd started readin' it as soon as it was published.

Funny thing about "Half of the Top"—Shinmyou-sensei wrote a challenge in the first chapter: "All detectives of the country take note. If you wish to churn your brain juices, try to solve this mystery by yourself."

Heh heh. Kind of a dick move. If you ask me.

Of course that got my blood boilin', not to mention my brain juices. I was determined to solve "Half of the Top" before Samonji did. But while I was readin' it, I started noticin' a lot of little grammar mistakes. Nothin' big. Like, to spell the word 'twelve' he used a Roman numeral '1' and then the kanji for 'two' instead of one or th'other. I had figured this was kinda strange, but it was sort of in the back of my mind for all those two months.

And so, gettin' back to my story, when Kazuha and I got home that evenin' (it was a Saturday but her dad was workin' at the station so she was eatin' at our place again) I saw that the next issue of the magazine had arrived in the mail, so after dinner I started readin' it while Kazuha started doin' homework. Yeah, we were doin' homework on a Saturday night. Between our martial arts extracurriculars, an' me with detective work an' Kazuha followin' me around, the two of us are always a little bit behind on work. It's kinda funny to watch Kazuha do her homework. She doesn't give a damn about grades or anythin' like that, but she still gets so worked up about each individual assignment. When she can't figure out a math problem she takes it as a personal offense. And she puts so much time into every one of her essays. It's fun to watch her cheeks puff up and her face turn red while she works. You can tell she's really into it when her tongue pokes out a little, too.

Anyway, we were sittin' in the living room an' I was readin' the newest chapter of "Half of the Top" and Kazuha was doin' here homework, an' I was thinkin' about all these weird grammar mistakes—an' then it hit me. There was a code buried in the chapter!

I jumped up so fast that I spilled our tea, an' with Kazuha screechin' at me I bolted to my room an' whipped out all my other magazines. I was pretty sure I already knew what the messages were—I've got an eidetic memory, so I could probably recite every single Samonji story for ya right now, and write them out in the same layout as the magazine, page for page—but I'll spare ya the details. Anyway, it only took me a second to confirm that I was right.

So, with the magazines in hand I ran back out to the hall phone off the living room. Kazuha was at the living room door, starin' at me.

"What's gotten inta you?" she demanded.

"Shinmyou-sensei's being held hostage!" I told her. "He's using his Samonji stories to communicate a code. That's why he challenged readers to solve the case before Samonji did! I'm callin' Bunka Jidai Publishers to warn 'em."

"Heiji—"

"Shut up, the phone's ringin'."

Someone picked up after two rings. "Hello, Bunka Jidai Publishers." Calm as hell. As if there wasn't a plea for help under their noses the entire time!

"Shinmyou-sensei's been kidnapped!" I said. "He's put a code in the chapters of 'Half o' the Top,' but I've solved it!"

"Whaa!" the guy said. Like he couldn't believe it. "You know the clue?"

"That's what I just said—"

"Who are you?" the guy asked.

"Hattori Heiji, high school detective!" I replied, but he wasn't listenin'. I heard a clap, like he'd covered the receiver, then the guy's muffled voice: "He says he's solved the riddle and to get the police over here right away. It's a boy with a Kansai accent."

"'_Boy'_?" I repeated. "And you're the one with the accent—"

I could hear a rustling, like someone handing the phone over to another person, and then a different voice said "Who are you?" in this irritated voice.

"Idiot!" I interrupted. "How many times do I have to tell you! Get the police there quickly, you hear?"

"Oh," said the new guy, as if he'd just realized somethin' mildly interestin'. "It's Hattori-kun. This is Inspector Megure."

"Inspector Megure!" Thank God, the police were already there. An' Megure-han's a pretty cool guy. "How've you been! It's been a long time!"

"What is it, Hattori-kun?"

"The hint. I've already solved the hint of the 'half' written in this novel. The first time I saw that challenge I thought, 'this old guy is pretty infuriating,' but as I read on I understood. The words that Shinmyou-han wrote in the novel are hints that lead us to the answer to a riddle."

"The words are hints?" Inspector Megure repeated doubtfully. He may be a cool guy, but he's not the brightest.

"That's right," I said patiently. Truth is, I love this part of a case. I'd've explained it to him twenty times if he wanted me to. Except that there was the problem of Shinmyou-han being in danger, of course! "That means, those words were not to challenge us readers. There is some kind of clue hidden in the novel and he hopes that someone can break it, you understand?"

"That means, you've solved the entire clue behind the contents?"

"That's right! I've cracked the codes right from the start. The key to the first issue is in the title, 'Half of the Top.' You'll realize that all of the words on the top begin with the fraction one over two. That means these two words can be put together to make a single word."

He was sufficiently flabbergasted. "Two words to a single word!"

I smiled. "Remember this principle an' read it from the start again," I said. God, I love this part.

I went through the first line in the first issue, while the inspector was hopefully followin' along, since I doubt he'd be able to remember it off the top of his head.

Inspector Megure read out loud: "'Plea-se-hur-ry—come-save-me'! It's to hurry up and save him! It's a request!"

"That's right. I think our author must be trapped somewhere, and is bein' forced to write this novel."

"I see. that's why he used this method. This won't attract the culprit's attention, and he can make his message reach all the readers."

"Me, I'm guessin' since this is the first new work for the author in a decade, the culprit could be an obsessive fan, or someone who wants to have use script of a best-seller for unjust gains—"

Then—get this! I heard a clatter, an' then their voices were distant. They had put down the phone, an' were talking about the account where the publishers deposit Shinmyou-sensei's paycheck!

I couldn't believe it. How could they just toss me aside like that—when I hadn't even finished explainin' the case! And there was the matter of the rest of the code that I still hadn't cracked.

Turns out someone else picked up the phone while those idiots were still going on about the finances. "But then again, Hattori," said another voice into the receiver. "Did you notice the descriptions beside the words sensei wrote?"

I was surprised for a second, but then I recognized that squeaky little voice. "Oh, Kudou! What are you doing here?" What luck, I thought. I had been putting off calling the guy for weeks, and now he suddenly appears on the phone!

He obviously didn't see it that way. "Nothing," he said in that 'I'm-too-cool' voice of his. "It's just a coincidence."

"No, it's actually that the both of us belong to the same species, so we keep meeting up again unknowingly."

"Tell me the clue."

"Right. do you want to come to Osaka? You can have as much delicious ramen as you want here! The ramen in Tokyo is so strongly flavored that it's unbearable."

" I'm hanging up." That asshole.

"Ah, sorry, sorry!" I said. "Let's talk about the clue. Although I've completely broken the first part of the clue, for the rest of the words here you don't need to use the words 'half of the top' as a basis." I read it out loud for him: just a bunch of nonsense syllables. Didn't even make sense if ya read every third word. So I couldn't get anythin' out of it.

"Looks like if we want to break this code we need to find the next piece," Kudou said.

Notice the 'we.' He tries to pretend he doesn't like me, but I know I'm probably the closest thing to a buddy he's got. I thought about rubbin' him for it, but the case was more important.

"Right," I said. "The important clue that has hidden itself from us detectives. It must be hidden somewhere…"

But just then, my dream popped inta my head again: the vision of Kudou dying, more vivid and shockin' than ever now that it was his actual voice in my ear as I saw it. If Kudou was really gonna die soon…if he was gonna get killed on a murder case… Shinmyou's case might be his last one! And since we'd already pretty much figured out the code, all that'd remain is waitin' until the next chapter was submitted, in which case Kudou, bein' in Tokyo and at the publishin' house, would see it first. So by the time they faxed me the chapter, Kudou'd probably already have figured it out. And I woulda bet anything that Kudou loved Samonji just as much as I did when he was little. Well, little for the first time, that is. So I figured I oughta be a pal and give him the case.

I musta sighed or somethin', because Kudou asked me what was the matter. I did my best to sound annoyed, which isn't that hard when Kudou's around.

"I'm such an idiot!"

"Huh?"

Couldn't tell him the truth. He'd get all rational on me, and besides, Kazuha was still standin' there with her arms crossed, listenin' to everything I said. I pulled a face. "Since you're there, what am I worryin' about all the way here in Osaka? Right, Kudou—I'm leaving the rest to you! If you get anything, contact me! Do your best!"

And before he could do more than splutter, I hung up the phone.

Feelin' pretty proud of myself, I sat back down on the sofa. Wonder what his reaction to that was. Probably took him a moment to realize what'd happened. I imagined him cursin', an' then bein' scolded by Ran-neechan. That thought made me smile. Geez, and he wondered how I figured out Edogawa was Kudou so fast! Sometimes I think that guy's not exactly a 'people' person, if ya know what I mean. Like Kazuha. People like me, now, we're more friendly and accessible. We understand people's feelings and shit like that. It's part o' what makes me a better detective than Kudou is.

Anyway, I was feelin' good and virtuous and all that, but Kazuha was lookin' pretty pissed about somethin'. She pretended to be really inta her homework for the whole resta the evenin', an' when her oton (that's 'father' for all you illiterate Tokyo-dialect speakers) came to pick her up she just stormed out without lookin' at me.

See, like I said. She's just not a people person.

Now, where was I?

…Actually, I'm gonna hafta tell the rest later. I' m pretty tired right now. Kazuha and Kudou are enough to wear anybody out. Next time I'll start with Kudou's arrival at Osaka. Okay, until then!

…

…

_A/N: Most of the dialogue from the case part comes from episode 117 of Detective Conan. I watched it on YouTube. I'm not sure who did the English subs but I mostly followed them, with minor edits._

_So if you remember this case, the middle part of this fic is probably sort of boring. Sorry! But I think Heiji'd get a little too into explaining the intricacies of a case. Meh. Anyway, please review!_


	3. A Week to Kill

So of course the bastard didn't call me back about how the Missing Detective Writer case turned out. I heard about it in the news on Monday morning: Shinmyou-sensei wasn't really kidnapped. Here's the story:

Shinmyou-sensei had contracted a terminal illness, and knew he didn't have much longer. So, before he died, he really wanted to see a reader solve his mystery cases an' come to him with the answer. So he an' his wife moved into a hotel in Tokyo from where he wrote an' sent the chapters with the codes in 'em. He was hopin' someone'd find his code and figure out where he was. As he got weaker an' weaker, though, his wife started typin' the chapters an' his messages started getting' more urgent.

The next chapter came in only a few minutes after I'd hung up with Kudou, and he solved it in a few minutes. So he an' Mouri an' the police rushed over to the hotel, where it turns out that Shinmyou-sensei had died just minutes before Kudou got there.

The really terrible thing about all that, though, is that Shinmyou an' his wife had apparently kept their intentions an' location so secret that they hadn't even told their daughter what they were doin'. Kudou got involved in the first place because the daughter hired Mouri to find her father.

So I guess she was relieved that her father hadn't actually been kidnapped, but to have him die minutes before she got there, after not havin' seen him for months—ouch. Neither father nor daughter got what they wanted, in the end.

Okay, I know I said I'd start with Kudou's arrival at Osaka, but I'm actually just gonna throw in a mention of the phone conversation we had between the case that weekend and his visit the next weekend, 'cause it's kinda funny. It's typical Kudou.

So anyway, that Monday I was at Kazuha's house, which is pretty weird in and of itself. I hardly ever go to Kazuha's house. We're usually always at mine. That's partly because my okan (again, that's 'mother' for you uncultured Tokyo people) is such an amazing cook, and partly because she and Kazuha are practically best friends. It's kinda scary, actually. They're _always_ chattin' and textin' each other. Okan buys Kazuha's favorite food when she goes shoppin' so there's always Oreos and Cherry Coke in our fridge for her, an' if I so much as think about eatin' 'em my own okan will yell at me. Okan even gives Kazuha money to buy me clothes.

Yeah, that's right. Kazuha dresses me.

It's pretty messed up.

Well, so, anyway, we were at Kazuha's house. It was the Monday after the Missing Detective Writer case. We were finished with homework, an' she was lyin' on her bed listening to music with her headphones in, and I was pretty bored. And Kazuha kept yellin' at me—first to stop talkin' to her while she was tryin' to listen, then to stop touching all the stuff on her desk, then to stop starin' at her.

That's when I realized Kudou'd never called me back about my invitation. That jerk! So I whipped out my cell phone and called him.

Or I guess it's more correct to say I called the Mouris. I had to pretend I really wanted to see the crazy old man again (couldn't say I wanted Ran-neechan; Kazuha had opened her eyes and was glarin' at me).

"The little guy didn't tell ya? I invited y'all to Osaka! You can come stay at my place. How about this weekend?"

Mouri was a grouch about it, but in the background I could hear neechan talking excitedly, and one or two monosyllabic noises from the guy I really wanted to see.

"Make sure ya bring you-know-who with ya! Ku-Ku-Co—yeah, that's the one!"

Kazuha harrumphed and rolled over.

I really don't get her sometimes.

Ahh, whatever, movin' on again.

Mouri grudgingly agreed to visit that weekend, then hung up on me. Since it was Monday, we had one more week to kill (no pun intended) before Kudou got there.

It was a fairly normal week. I hung out with some o' the guys on the Kendo team on Tuesday night. They're all right. None of 'em are as good as me, though. Or as smart. I don't really see 'em that often outside of practice, 'cause I'm either solvin' a mystery or lurking around the police station tryin' to find one. In fact, I do miss a fair amount of practices, too, which is really bad 'cause I'm taisho (that means captain) of the Kendo team. The coach is always threatenin' to kick me off the team. Except he won't, because I'm the best he's got.

Wednesday I just went home an' read this new mystery novel. Thursday Kazuha had an aikido tournament, so I went after my kendo practice got out and did my homework while I watched. And let me tell ya, that girl kicks some serious ass. You wouldn't think it, 'cause she's so skinny, but—well, let's just say that we used to wrestle and fight a lot when we were really little, but once we were about seven years old that got really embarrasin' so we stopped, and then one time when we were ten (Kazuha had been doin' aikido for about four years now) we had a BIG fight an' I pulled her hair, an' then she slapped me an' then I pushed her and then she grabbed my elbows and then all of a sudden I was eatin' grass. An' then _I_ got in trouble for fightin' a girl. So I haven't touched her since. Not without a katana in easy reach, anyway.

I saw most of the tournament. Kazuha got into the final round, but before her match I got a call from Otaki-han down at the police station.

See, the week before, a department store owner named Nagao Hidetoshi was found strangled in his back yard in Toigama City, an' the police still hadn't found the killer. The weird thing about the case was that after Nagao died, the killer'd stabbed a knife through his front shirt pocket, wallet, and inta his chest.

Otaki-han told me over the phone that the police had jus' found another victim killed in exactly the same way: a woman named Nishiguchi Tayo, a bartender in Hirogashi. So I left Kazuha's match to meet him at the police station.

Luckily, my oton was too busy to notice me comin' in. I went straight to Otaki-han's office, where he had already laid out the photos of the victims.

Both Nagao and Nishiguchi were strangled to death, then stabbed in the chest through a front pocket with their wallet in it. The cases occurred over ten kilometers apart, and so far the police hadn't found anything that Nagao and Nishiguchi had in common.

"Your father's calling it a serial killing case," Otaki-han said gravely. "Chief Toyama's worried there might be a mass panic in the city if people find out."

"Because you can't find anythin' linkin' the two victims, you're worried the killer's just strikin' at random," I said. "Could it possibly be that the second murder was a different person, who used the same pattern as the first to disguise his crime?"

Otaki-han shook his head. "Your father thought of that, too. But the public wasn't informed that the first victim was stabbed through his wallet in the chest after death. There's no way someone could have copied the method so exactly."

"He did, did he?" I mused. "…If my oton's personally involved in this case, why didn't he tell me about it himselfr?"

Otaki-han frowned. "You're seventeen, Hei-chan," he said in a conciliatory tone. "He probably didn't want you involved."

"Oh yeah?" I growled. "My oton—"

"Yes?" said a grave voice from the doorway. "What about your father, Heiji?"

I whipped around. "Oton!"

Yup, my oton was standin' in the doorway of Otaki-han's office. Glarin'. As usual. I have very few memories of that man smilin'.

"What are you doing here, Heiji?" he said.

"I came to ask you a favor!" I add-libbed quickly. "I got some friends from Tokyo comin' to visit on Saturday—the famous detective Sleepin' Mouri Kogoro an' his kids! So I was wonderin' if you'd help me give 'em a tour of Osaka. Could you pick us up from Tsuuten Tower an' drive us around a bit?"

My oton's frown deepened. If that's even possible. But I could tell he was intrigued. Mouri was pretty famous, after all, an' I'm one o' the only ones who knows he's a fraud.

"Mouri Kogoro, huh?" he repeated. "Yes…I think I can do that. I'll have to see if a car's free."

"That's great!" I grinned. "Thanks, Oton!"

"Hm." He turned around. "I have to get back to work. Otaki, if you're headed out, could you drop Heiji off at home? And tell Shizuka that I'll be working late tonight, I'm afraid."

"Yes, sir!" Otaki-han said. An' he ushered me outta his office, pretendin' not to notice my silent pleas to keep talkin' about the case. I grilled him about it the whole ride home, but he didn't know anythin' else. An' it was clear that as things stood I wasn't gonna get a chance to do much investigatin' on my own.

So it was just my okan an' me for dinner. Which is not that uncommon. It wasn't bad though. My okan's pretty awesome. And she makes the best takoyaki in the entire world. We had the news on during dinner, but there were no updates about the case. Just a lot of crap about pop stars and politics an' shit like that.

By the way, Kazuha won her tournament. I saw her in school the next day. I guess she was kinda pissed I had missed it.

I tried to go to sleep early Friday night, knowin' Kudou'd be comin' the next day, but I was also sure I'd have that dream again, 'cause ever since Mouri'd accepted my invitation to come, it'd been gettin' worse. I was so jittery I couldn't lie down—as soon as I managed to get my mind off the serial killing case, I couldn't stop thinkin' about Kudou dyin'.

I finally went down to the basement to practice Kendo on the dummy we keep down there for my okan an' me. Then I ate the leftover takoyaki in the fridge, and after that I passed right out.


	4. The Arrival

Shit!

Sorry, I dozed off. Where was I?

Right, right. Takoyaki.

So I met the three of 'em at the airport at 10:35 the next morning. That's when their plane landed.

You'd think, from the state I was in the night before, that I'd be going crazy the morning before they arrived. It was funny, though—I woke up with this feelin' of—not calmness, but conviction. It was like that feelin' you get before a kendo match: inside your heart's jumpin' an' your fingers are tinglin', but you've also got this calm in your head, like an edge. An absolute focus—noticing everythin' but thinkin' about just one thing—winning.

So I just rolled outta bed, threw some clothes on, hopped on my bike, and headed straight to the airport. If Kudou was gonna die at some point in the near future, at least this Saturday in Osaka would be fun, right?

I got to the gate just as they were disembarkin'. They made a pretty funny picture: chipper Ran-Neechan, glowering Mouri-han (probably hung over, I'd bet), and of course that little bastard, who was starin' at me like I was a dead body he needed to figure out. A dead body that he half-expected to come alive and strangle him.

Paranoid? Who, Kudou?

I grinned at 'em. Ran-Neechan smiled back, Mouri harrumphed at me, and Kudou only looked even more suspicious.

Geez, I thought. What's with this guy? I started to frown at him—but it happened again, just at that moment. Little shrunk-Kudou with his suspicious, edgy eyes turned into normal Kudou with wide, shocked eyes, shaking fingers clutching at a bloody knife in his chest. Dyin' right in front of me. I swear, it was so vivid I almost shouted out loud.

Neechan's voice shook me outta my head. I jumped and looked at her. She was peerin' up at me like I had just spouted off an illogical deduction. "What's wrong, Hattori-kun?" she said. "You look pale."

I looked back at Kudou. He was suspicious, edgy little-Kudou again, his shirt free of bloodstains, his hands in his pockets. But then—it was almost like he was a little bit different, too. Instead of annoyin' me, his expression made me feel kinda sad. I mean, it must really suck to hafta hide from everyone you love—to not know when you can be yourself around 'em again—even if you ever will be able to again. Must be really lonely.

Ran-Neechan was still lookin' at me concernedly. An' I wasn't gonna let this get ta me. It just increased my determination to give the three of 'em a fun, normal day. So I smiled again and clapped Mouri-han on the shoulder.

"It's great to see ya!" I said. "I've missed the greatest detective in Tokyo!" I pounded Mouri-han's back and shot a wink at Kudou. He rolled his eyes at me.

"Anyway, let's go!" I tugged at Ran-Neechan's arm; she stumbled a bit and Kudou glared at me. "We've got a lot to see! Get prepared for the time of your lives!"

Our first stop was Tsuuten Tower. It's within walkin' distance of the airport an' I figured we could see almost the whole city from up there. It's a really beautiful view. I pointed out some of the sights, like Osaka Dome an' such, so they could decide what they wanted to see durin' the rest of the day.

'Neechan liked lookin' through the telescopes at everything—just like Kazuha. Sometimes the things that Kazuha finds amusin' just baffle me. We come up to Tsuuten Tower together a lot, actually. She spends all my quarters on the telescopes, and I spend all her quarters buyin' us sodas. Cherry Coke for Kazuha, Dr Pepper for me. This one time, we were hangin' out on Tsuuten Tower, about six months ago, when I got a call from Otaki-han about a case nearby. So I left Kazuha on the top of the tower and ran off to help with the case. It was a really interestin' one, actually. The killer had greased up the shower so when his wife went in to bathe she slipped and hit her head, so he made it look like an accident. But I found traces of the oil in the towel the victim had been holdin'. Ah—how'd I get on that? Oh, right—well, that evenin' after the case was done I remembered about Kazuha an' I ran back to Tsuuten Tower as fast as I could, but I figured she'd probably have left by then, right? I had been gone a really long time. But when I got back to the lookout platform of the tower, she was still there! Sittin' under a telescope, watchin' the cityscape. She'd probably run out of quarters. I was surprised to see her. But really happy, too. I couldn't believe she waited. Anyway, we rode home on my motorbike. Which might sound pleasant, except that she chewed me out the entire time for leavin' her an' bein' so late.

What I was _sayin'_ is that you can see all of the city from Tsuuten Tower, so I asked the three of 'em what they wanted to do. And of course Mouri-han just asked when we were gonna get food.

It was only about eleven in the morning. I told him my oton was gonna be coming to pick us up pretty soon.

"Well, then, I'll just have a cigarette," Mouri grumbled. He ambled off. An' with Ran-Neechan still occupied with the telescopes, Kudou, who'd been glarin' unremittingly all mornin', took the opportunity an' tugged my jacket. "Oi, Hattori."

He moved off to the side a ways an' I followed him until he turned around, put his hands on his hips, and glared up at me. God, that guy is short. Even for a first-grader. It must suck to have been seventeen and then be a pipsqueak again. I bent down in case he wanted to discuss the Black Organization case and wanted to whisper.

He narrowed his eyes. "Tell me, why did you want us to come to Osaka?"

So not about the Org, then. "What are you talking about?" I laughed.

"There's something you aren't telling me," he said in that smart-ass voice.

I waved my hand. "No, no, there isn't anything to it this time!"

"Eh?" All the tightness vanished from his face; his eyes widened an' his jaw dropped.

I stood up and put a hand on the tower railing. "I asked you here this time so you could have a tour of Osaka," I said, looking out at the people bustlin' by below us. There was a small traffic jam a few blocks over, an' in the other direction a big crowd was formin' around the corner of Thirty-Eighth and West street—probably for a sale. There was a hot dog vendor almost exactly below us outside the tower, an' I felt like I could almost smell the ketchup. Suddenly I was hungry too.

"Everybody will die some day," I said. " That's the only guarantee in life."

Outta the corner of my eye I saw his jaw drop. "W-what did you say that for?" he said, raisin' his eyebrows with a hesitant, short laugh.

Well, might as well go for it now. He could tell I had somethin' on my mind, and he wasn't goin' to rest until he heard the truth. I sighed an' shook my head.

"I had a bad dream."

"Dream?"

"Yeah." I turned back to the window. "I dreamed I was chasing a criminal and was about to catch him, and I was stabbed—" I turned and smirked at Kudou. "—And you died!"

He nearly fell over. I was actually concerned for about half a second, but then I saw the smirk on his face. "Oi, oi, don't kill people in your dreams!" he snickered.

I grinned back. "Well, then, just stay here an' have a good time in Osaka."

Just then I heard someone call my name. I looked up. It was Officer Sakada-han, an officer in my oton's unit. I'd worked with him before. Always thought of him as a nice guy, very professional. His movements are unusually coordinated an' rigid, like a pattern he's trained himself to perform. Just like Otaki-han, he'd always let me tag along on cases.

"Sorry I'm so late!" he said, runnin' up to the four of us. He smiled at Mouri-han. "I'm Officer Sakada from the Osaka Police Precinct."

"An officer came for us?" said Neechan.

"Yeah," I said. "I told my oton that Mouri-han here was comin' to Osaka for a holiday, so I asked him to take us around for a special tour. Speakin' of which…" I looked over Sakada-han's shoulder. "He's not here yet? He said he'd come."

Sakada-han's smile disappeared; he leaned in towards me an' said in a low voice, so only I could hear, "The chief is having a meeting for the case."

Outta the corner of my eye, I saw Kudou perk up at the word 'case.'

"All right!" I said quickly, still lookin' at Sakada-han. "Did you prepare the right vehicle?"

Sakada-han smiled an' leaned back away. "Of course!" he said loudly. "I drove the best car in the station for Heiji-kun."

Heh heh. I love bein' the police chief's son. Only way to travel. For some reason the other three didn't seem to be as excited as they should've been, though.

"Oi…" Mouri-han said. "Could that car be…"

I turned back to them an' grinned. "Okay! Let's go!"

So the five of us trooped down the one thousand, five hundred and two stairs to the ground floor. I could tell Kudou was dyin' to ask what "the case" was that my dad was workin' on, but with Mouri-han, Neechan and Sakada-han right there he didn't dare.

Our car was parked right outside Tsuuten Tower, in the fire lane, almost perfectly parallel with the curb. See, police cars can get away with that kind of stuff. It's great.

"We're going to that tiny ramen shop at the corner of Main and fifty-first street, okay?" I opened the back door of the car for the three of 'em. "Let's get going!"

They didn't look that excited, though, for some reason. Neechan hesitated. So I handed her a guidebook an' waved her in with my other hand.

"Here, you can read this on the way an' see what you think's the most interesting!" I handed a second one to Kudou as Neechan grabbed his hand and pulled him into the car. Then I walked around an' got in the front seat while Mouri-han got in himself. Took him some time, though. Sakada-han was already in the front seat. He buckled himself in, then asked if everyone else was, too (Neechan was tryin' to buckle Kudou in, an' he was tryin' to shake her off with as much dignity as possible), then he adjusted the rearview mirror an' started the car.

"Isn't this great?" I said as we pulled out. "In a patrol car, even in traffic jams other cars will make way."

They didn't answer. I figured it was because they were readin' the guidebook.

"All right," I said. "Where do you want to go?"

I turned around to look at 'em as Sakada-han pulled onto the high way. To my surprise, they weren't reading their guidebooks. Mouri-han had this pinched look on his face, like he needed another cigarette; Neechan's face was strangely red an' she was holding her head lower than usual; and Kudou had lost all the wide-eyed interest that the word 'case' had sparked in him, and was now slouched between the other two, the first-grader death stare back in place.

I don't get those people.

"…Wait a minute…" Mouri-han said, as if he had finally found his voice. Maybe his throat was dry from all those cigarettes. But then his face got really red an' he burst out, "DON'T TELL ME MY TOUR OF OSAKA IS IN THIS CAR!"

Yeah, I really don't get those people.

"What?" I said. "You don't like it? This is the newest model!"

Well, however unreasonable they were bein', I tried to think of somethin' to cheer them up. I was the host, after all. Maybe they'd like to hear about past models? All the facts an' figures an' names rushed up in my head—but then I saw a certain button in the car and got a better idea.

"Hey!" I grinned at Ran-Neechan, who was still lookin' kinda uncomfortable. Guess it was because she was stuck in a car with her dad an' that little bastard. "Should I turn on the siren? That way, we'll get around faster."

Neechan raised her hands. "Uh, no," she laughed. "Please don't do that! It's just…" she looked out the window an' her face got red again. "I feel like a criminal riding around this way. It's a little embarrassing…"

Was that all? I guess a red face is usually a behavioral marker of embarrassment. It's just that it can also mark many other emotions, like anger or pleasure or intense concentration, though, so it's hard to be sure without other evidence. A good detective doesn't jump to conclusions.

"Don't let it bother you!" I said. "You haven't done anything illegal. You can sit in it proudly!"

That seemed to convince 'em because they stopped complaining. Just sat silently while I pointed out sights. I know the area around Tsuuten Tower really well 'cause, like I said, Kazuha an' I hang out here every once in a while. It's only a short ride away from her house on my motorbike.

Oh, but speakin' of Kazuha, listen to this—well, actually, wait. Let's save that story for next time. It's too good to ruin with a quick tellin'. Okay, till next time!

…

…

_A/N: Writing from Heiji's perspective is proving to be a unique challenge that only gets more difficult as we get more involved with this specific murder case. Heiji is so interesting because he's extremely observant about some things—and totally oblivious about others. He doesn't seem to be very in tune with his own emotions. In fact, in the fanfic "An Unprofessional Opinion" by Ellen Brand, the writer diagnoses Heiji with Asperser's Syndrome. I think this is a very good way to understand Heiji's personality, and I'm trying to keep it in mind as I write this pseudo-memoir. You should check out Ellen Brand's fic—it's great!_

_Also, a disclaimer: I know nothing about Osaka or its streets. So this chapter and the next one has a lot of made-up street names and such. My apologies to any Japanese readers!_


	5. The Little Follower

Oh boy, I've been lookin' forward to this. Okay, you gotta hear this—it's great.

So since Mouri-han said he was hungry, we were gonna hit the best restaurants in town first—I figured Main Street for ramen, then I know this great takoyaki place a few minutes away by police car, an' then we'll get dessert by the harbor.

First place we stopped was the ramen shop. Sakada-han waited in the car while the rest of us went in; I ordered four bowls, and the chef, Kamiya-han, whipped them up right away for us.

"This is what we call real noodles," I explained as he served us our ramen. "The soup is clear so you can see the bottom."

Mouri-han wasted no time cracking his chopsticks. Neechan was very appreciative of it too; "Different, but good," she said. Even Kudou looked excited about it. In fact, his expression was similar to that of most other little kids, for once.

"Hey, Heiji!" Kamiya-han grinned at me over the counter. "Who's this girl?" He held up his pinky finger. "Your new girlfriend?"

I thought that was pretty interestin'. On what evidence was Kamiya-han basin' his deductions? Do people just assume that when two young people, objectively considered to be attractive, are together in a public place, they are datin'? I had suspected this before, but Kamiya-han's unusually quick conclusion interested me. "Does it look that way?" I asked.

Kudou took an extra large slurp from his bowl. I guess he wasn't interested in this line of inquiry. Again, more evidence that I'm a better detective than he is.

But before Kamiya-han could answer, Neechan interrupted. "No, no," she laughed an' waved her hand. "I just came from Tokyo with my—" but she broke off really abruptly. She an' her oton started talkin' about something, an' I took the opportunity to talk to Kudou a bit. But it sounded like Neechan wasn't feeling well or something.

"Where to next?" I asked Kudou.

It was Mouri-han who answered, though. That guy was under the impression that it was him I invited, after all. He'd already finished his ramen and now demanded takoyaki.

So we all trooped back into the squad car and drove fourteen blocks south and four blocks west to my favorite takoyaki joint in the city. It takes a lot longer to drive than to motorbike, I think. Or maybe it's just that Sakada-han is such a slow, cautious driver.

Mouri-han was more enthusiastic about the food this time. Or at least, he was louder. He an' Kudou were tearin' through the plate.

Neechan, however, was lookin' uncomfortable, and kept glancin' over her shoulder. I wondered if she'd spotted somethin' suspicious that even I mighta missed.

"What?" I asked her.

"It's nothing…" she said. "It's just that…I feel like someone is watching us."

Oh geez, I thought. We weren't even past lunch and already these three were bein' a handful. "Come on," I smiled. "Don't worry about it and just eat."

She noticed just then that there were only three takoyaki left, and Kudou was snaggin' one of 'em. She grabbed the plate and picked it up away from him.

"Why are you two eating so much!"

"Ran-neechan," said Kudou, "aren't you on a diet?"

An' I guess she was, because she put the plate back down an' let Kudou finish the last two takoyaki without a word. Still didn't look happy, though.

As soon as they were done, we piled back in the squad car, and Mouri-han pulled out the guidebook he'd pilfered from Kudou, and made his third demand: okonomiyaki.

"You want okonomiyaki?" I repeated as we buckled in under Sakada-han's scrupulous eye. "Why didn't you say that before the takoyaki? I know of a good restaurant, but it's on the other side of town, and it takes a long time to get back over there. Osaka has a lot of one-way roads."

"Don't worry," Sakada-han said, adjusting the rearview mirror. "I know of another good shop right around here. I'll take you there."

So pretty soon we were at this place on Fourth and Central Avenue that I remember passin' by, but I'd never been inside it before. After we ordered four plates of okonomiyaki (Sakada-han was waitin' in the car again), I wanted to step out for a minute to give my okan a call to see when she wanted us home for dinner. So on my way out I told the chef not to forget my rice, but before I could leave all three of 'em made this weird noise.

I turned to look at 'em and saw they were all starin' at me. Not that I mind bein' stared at. I'm not one to get stage fright, especially during a kendo tournament or on a case. But I was pretty sure that the present situation didn't qualify as either.

"Why are you eating rice with okonomiyaki?" Mouri-han said, with a weird expression on his face.

I didn't understand. "It's normal! Rice is a dish too!" They all had expressions similar to that of a person who isn't following my deduction logic on a case—wide eyes, open mouths, raised eyebrows—so I explained: "Okonomiyaki with rice and soy sauce is delicious!"

Put it down to bein' from Tokyo. Okonomiyaki is really a kansai food. Can't expect Tokyo people to understand. Anyway, I left them to think over this new piece of culture I'd bestowed on them an' stepped out the back of the restaurant to call my okan. I told her we'd had ramen an' takoyaki an' okonomiyaki for lunch, so she promised that she'd make somethin' different for dinner.

I was really excited; even the best ramen joints in town can't beat my okan's cookin. But of course, I never made it back home for dinner that night. But I'm gettin' ahead of myself.

So I hung up with my okan an' when I got back inside the restaurant, guess who I found?

That's right—Kazuha!

She was standin' next to the stool at the counter that I'd just vacated, her back to me, loomin' over the seated Kudou an' Neechan (she thinks she's scary, even though she's like 5 foot 3 an' about 110 pounds). Of course, the scary thing about Kazuha is that she's scarier than she looks, but strangers don't know that. Kudou and Neechan's expressions seemed pretty scared to me, though. "…You'll hafta go through me first!" Kazuha was sayin' to 'em.

"Kazuha!" I said. She jumped an' turned around. Her cheeks were really pale—like murder suspects' faces often get when they're accused of a crime, which of course only made me more curious about what she was doin' there. She has nice eyes, too—have I described Kazuha's eyes yet? They're black, but they've almost got this greenish color in 'em.

I put my hands in my pockets. "What're you doin' here?"

Her mouth fell open an' for a moment she didn't say anythin'. Then she stammered, "I was checkin' up on you, ahou!"

"Why?" I said. "I saw you yesterday at school."

"Yeah, but I just wanted ta make sure that your Tokyo friends were—you know—that you were okay—because people from Tokyo—"

Kudou came to the rescue. "This oneesan thought that Ran-neechan was _your _girlfriend!" he said. Then his face got red again an' started gulpin' down his water.

I looked back at Kazuha. Her face got really red and her mouth got tight and pressed together. It was an expression I hadn't often seen on her face before. I think the only other time I saw a similar look was when I walked into my high school kendo dojo a few months ago an' saw Kazuha waitin' for me an' hangin' out with some of the other guys on the team. They seemed to be teasin' her about somethin' an' when she saw me her face got the same way an' the other guys started laughin'.

Seein' her standin' in the restaurant next to Kudou and Neechan and Mouri-han, with her eyes wide and her face pale as a criminal's—I laughed too. Her face was pretty funny. An' all the poor deductions people keep makin' really amused me too.

"Don't be ridiculous!" I said, holdin' my sides. "Kudou is a guy. Understand? A guy!" I sat down between Kazuha and Kudou, an' pointed over my shoulder at Neechan. "This girl is Kudou's girlfriend!"

Both Kudou and Neechan made chokin' noises and turned really red. By this point in the day, it wasn't even one pm an' already there had been more blushin' and red cheeks than I'd ever seen in my life.

Kazuha's blush was gone, though. She never holds a blush for long. She raised her eyebrows and peered at Neechan. "Really?"

I looked back over at Kudou an' Neechan, and sure enough their faces were priceless.

"It's not like that!" Neechan protested, her hands raised like a criminal under arrest. Kudou just looked like a little kid who'd stuck his fingers in a power socket.

"I told you," Kazuha said to me in her 'told-you-so' voice. She dropped her chin to her hands—always a sign she's pissed—and glared at me.

I was just havin' a great time sittin' between the three of 'em, but I figured I should make Kudou an' Neechan feel better. "It's because she's shy," I explained to Kazuha.

Kudou an' Neechan were quiet after that. Kazuha lifted her chin from her hands, but one of her eyebrows was still arched.

"I see," she said. "But then why didn't you ask Kudou-kun to come visit?"

"Ahou!" I said "Kudou has—"

But that's when a tiny hand clamped down on my upper arm. Kudou had turned his face up to me, so only I could see—and what a face! His eyes were wide an' his teeth gritted—not an expression I'd associate with pleasant situations—an' hissed "Shhh!"

Oh. Right.

"…To do something, and couldn't come," I finished.

Kazuha just continued to glare at me. Luckily, Neechan changed the subject. "Don't worry about that!" she said, wavin' her hand as if she could brush Kudou Shinichi away. She smiled at Kazuha. "What was that 'bond of steel' you were talking about?"

Kazuha just blinked. So I told 'em. "When we were younger, Kazuha and I were playin' at my house . I found some handcuffs that my father had put away. So we used them to play police, but then couldn't get them off. Thinking back on it, it was pretty funny."

"What was funny about that?" Kazuha snapped. I turned an' looked at her—her cheeks were pink again, surprise surprise—but somethin' made my heart feel funny as she put her elbows down the counter—it was like this quick tighetnin' in my chest—and then she said, her nose turned up in the air, "Back then we even had to shower and go to the toilet together!"

God, I didn't ever expect her to say that! I could almost feel a drop of sweat rollin' down my cheek, even though the restaurant was air-conditioned.

"Idiot!" I snapped. "Don't say stuff like that!"

Before I could say anythin' else, Kazuha grabbed the front of her sweater. I had no idea what she was about to do—half of me wanted to wait and watch like a good detective should, and half of me got really angry. Actually, come to think of it, I think I was also angry a few minutes before, when I found out Kazuha thought Neechan was my girlfriend—I forgot to mention that—but I laughed. Like, I was both angry and amused, an' I could have either laughed or shouted, I think. But I laughed. I mean, it was funny—but also weird. I dunno what I'm talking about.

But anyway Kazuha pulled her omamori from the front of her shirt to show Neechan and Kudou. That's what she was doin'. "I kept the link from the handcuffs!" she said, holdin' the omamori up for everyone to see, suddenly all happy and cheerful and friendly. She smiled at me, a real smile, the kind where her cheeks dimple and her eyes get bright and look greener than ever. She's so pissy that seein' that smile is somethin' special. "So we would remember it. Like a memento!"

There was somethin' in her smile that made my skin crawl. "You're sick!" I snapped, leanin' away from the watchin' Kudou and Neechan so only Kazuha could hear. "Throw it out!"

But I guess I shouldn't have kept my voice down—Ran-neechan didn't hear me say that, so she asked, "Are you two dating, then?"

Yeah. She asked that.

That's the third time that day someone'd drawn erroneous conclusions about me. Have you noticed that? First Kamiya-han an' Kazuha about Neechan, then Neechan about Kazuha. This is why I'm a great detective. It's not just that I'm smart; it's that I'm so much smarter than all these other unobservant people. Deductive power is just rare in the world.

Er—what was I talking about? Oh—well—at the time I didn't say anything. I was sort of frozen, starin' at Neechan. Like, baffled at all these poor observation skills. And it was really damn hot in that stupid restaurant!

"No, no!" Kazuha said finally. I dropped my eyes to the counter and wondered when the hell our damn okonomiyaki was gonna get there. "Heiji and I just grew up together. If anything, I'm his big sister."

I turned my head to glare at her. She had a big smile back on her face and had put one hand on her hip. "Oh, sure," I snapped, rolling my eyes at her. Then I turned to the other three and explained: "Her oton is an Osaka police officer in the precinct and is a close friend of my father's. That's how we grew up knowing each other."

Neechan smiled an' Kudou was at least not scowling, but Mouri-han looked grumpy. Like he needed another cigarette. "A detective and an officer's daughter growing up together," he said. "That's really conspicuous."

Interestin' choice of words. 'Conspicuous.' I didn't understand what he meant, but Neechan apparently didn't like it. "What?" she snapped at her father. "It's fine." Kudou looked away from them and gave this little snicker.

Whatever. I turned back to Kazuha. "So why are you here?"

Her cheeks got pink. Again. Notice a trend here? She was suddenly sulky-lookin' again; she crossed her arms and said, "I'm here to watch that girl from Tokyo, so you don't get tricked by her. Like a big sister should."

I stared at her, her pink cheeks and her closed eyes. An' finally, somethin' clicked in my brain.

"Kazuha…how long have you been watching?"

"From Tsuuten Tower," she said.

"Oh, please!" I said. "You're sick!"  
"I am not sick!"

"You're crazy!"

Well, now we knew why Neechan felt like someone was watchin' her. Luckily, our food came at just that moment and Kazuha was too busy eatin' my okonomiyaki to argue with me anymore.

But you know, if Kazuha was trailin' us since Tsuuten Tower, an' even I didn't notice her—that's really somethin'! I'm not one to overlook abnormalities—and Kazuha is certainly an abnormality, no matter where she is. That girl's gotta have some pretty sophisticated spy moves if she kept outta my sight all morning. See, it's hard to get Kazuha to care about something or to like someone (remember—not a people person) but once she makes up her mind about somethin', there's nothin' that can stop her.

I'd have been impressed if I wasn't so amused. And I'd have been amused if I wasn't so pissed.

Well, despite Kazuha's interruption and the uncalled-for amount of blushing, it was a pretty good morning—even if I still really wanted to hear more about that serial killing case Otaki-han was talkin' about, I was still enjoyin' myself. But I shoulda known it couldn't have lasted. Not with Kudou around. That guy…I bet murders occur within a one-kilometer radius of him at a much higher rate than in even the worst parts of Japan.

So I guess, thinkin' of it that way, hangin' out with Kudou was probably the best way for me to get on that serial killing case. Cause it wasn't too long before the third murder fell on top of us.

An' I'm not sayin' that in a 'figurative' sense, the way people do when they're using metaphors an' stuff like that. I mean a body literally fell on our car.

…

…


End file.
